


to your sharp and glorious thorn

by xerampelinae



Series: the thrill of knowing how alone (known) we are [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, Paranormal Investigators, multiverse resonance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 00:31:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17294249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xerampelinae/pseuds/xerampelinae
Summary: “This item,” Kolivan says, pulling it out of a hidden pocket, “is what is called a ‘spirit box.’ If the disembodied spirits of the dead are able to manipulate energy as is historically posited among humans, and such spirits are present, then they may manipulate the randomly-assigned chatter of the device into cohesive communication.”Antok shuffles closer obligingly as Kolivan activates the spirit box. It immediately begins chattering loudly, cycling up and down various radio frequencies.“Hm,” Kolivan says drily. “It it as irksome as the annals suggest.”Antok nods stiffly and pauses, raising a single ponderous finger.The spirit box suddenly shouts--in a pair of men’s voices, one after the other and almost fluidly pieced together--”Fuck you too, man.”-Paranormal investigations, the red carpet, accusations of vampirism and other events linked to the launch of a new GBC pilot.





	to your sharp and glorious thorn

“Alright,” Lance whispers, eyes nervously darting between camera and subject, “we are here on location, in pursuit of our subject, who may or may not be a bloodthirsty vampire.”

“This is a highly dangerous creature to approach--we do not recommend approaching it in the wild.” The camera follows as Lance makes his approach through randomly distributed cafeteria tables, to a lone man unpacking a large lunchbag decorated with lucky cats.

“Hey, Keith, buddy, how’s it going?” Lance says. 

The man looks up, eyelashes long and dark, face angular and handsome. His hair is tied up into a bun that settles low over the collar of shirt--slightly too large but with the sleeves rolled up to a workable length that reveals strong, tanned forearms. His expression is both wary and confused. “What are you doing?” Keith says, eying Lance in a way that allows him to keep the camera and its operator in sight.

“Oh, just made way too much jello,” Lance says with an affectation of innocence that has Keith narrowing his eyes. “And I brought you cherry, since I know you love it.”

“No thank you,” Keith says, face blank, “I packed lunch.”

Lance begins to sputter, but then the camera catches a shadow, then a tall, broad man comes into sight.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” the tall man says, hand settling on Keith’s shoulder. It is a large hand. His physique and the protective posture suggests that it is his shirt that Keith is wearing.

“Oh hey, hi Shiro,” the camera operator chirps.

“Just offering up some of my awesome cherry jello to this guy,” Lance says.

“Ah,” Shiro says. He sits down beside Keith; Keith immediately hands off a black chopstick case and opens up its red twin.

“Oh,” the camera operator says. “We’re interrupting your daily lunch date aren’t we.”

“Well--” Shiro says.

“Yes,” Keith says flatly.

The camera’s perspective shifts rapidly, two pairs of feet moving rapidly across the floor.

“Lance, that was not _subtle,”_ the camera operator says, voice high and sharp with nerves. “That was not even in the neighborhood driving by the house of subtle.”

“Alright, I messed up--” Lance says. The video ends abruptly.

-

“Shiro,” Keith says later. “That was odd, right?”

“More odd than those three typically get up to, you mean?” Shiro says. “Because if so, yes.”

“Yeah,” Keith says. “Did I do something recently or did Lance have another dream where I was mean and/or seduced his cow’s love from him?”

There’s a long silence while they consider Lance’s recent behavior. “Not that I’ve noticed,” Shiro says. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Alright,” Keith says, and they continue eating.

-

“Alright,” Shiro says at the biweekly dinner with the Holts, pinning Matt down with the kind of stare usually seen on the handsome lead of an action movie, or maybe even a detective drama. It’s a flattering look, as well as compelling.

Matt swallows audibly, raising his hands in surrender. “Look, all I know is that it’s something about a scientific investigation,” he says.

“We’re videographers,” Shiro says flatly.

“They’re just having fun?” Matt says slowly with an uncertainty he should know better than to show at a time like this, when Shiro has a particularly heroic-looking and determined look on his face. It’s like trying to be unswayed by Captain America: by definition, he’s _right_ and everyone who says otherwise is committed to sunk cost fallacies.

“That’s what you say whenever we catch you filming us and putting on your David Attenborough impression,” Shiro says. “I’m not sure it’s something we can trust.”

“It’s a good David Attenborough!” Matt cries.

“It is,” Shiro says. “But that’s not the point.”

“It’s--” Matt says, and looks pained. “I’m sorry--I wish I could say because I have _questions,_ but Pidge swore me to secrecy and there’s nothing more sacred to us Holts than Holt Promises.”

“Clever girl,” Shiro says, squinting pensively into the distance.

-

_“Here we are,”_ a man says in a naturalist’s confiding undertone and borrowed accent, _“in the wilds of an urban coffeeshop to witness the behavior of a mated pair.”_

The camera focuses on a couple studying the chalkboard menu--Keith and Shiro standing with their heads bent together. Shiro’s arm curves supportively around Keith’s back, hand disappearing into his back pocket. Keith seems to lean gently but visibly into the contact.

_“The question has been asked before: is this the behavior of a mated pair, or can it be observed in unattached members of a cohort. Now, however, we finally have an answer; in the case of this long-observed duo, this_ is _the behavior of a mated pair.”_

Keith turns suddenly around, pinning the narrator down with his unrelenting gaze. “What are you doing, Matt?”

_“Oh,_ shit,” the camera operator says, and drops his camera.

-

“Alright, team,” Shiro says. “While the naturalists are planning _Planetary_ season 2, we’ve been selected to film a pilot.”

“What--” Hunk says. “What kind of pilot? The Garrison remembers we’re not like, TV drama videographers, right?”

“What kind of pilot are we talking about?” Pidge says pensively. “Do we get to take the chopper again? We haven’t seen Allura or Coran since we wrapped.”

“It’s a little different,” Shiro says, eyes unusually steady on Keith’s for a public meeting.

“Is it--?” Keith says.

“It is,” Shiro says. 

Keith blinks. “Okay,” he says.

“What are you even talking about?” Lance says.

“For this project, we’ll be working with the Blades of Marmora,” Shiro says.

“Who?” Lance says.

“An organization composed primarily of Galra and Galra hybrids,” Keith says.

“That was a quick answer,” Hunk says.

“We’re familiar with them,” Shiro says. Keith nods sharply.

“Okay,” Pidge says, visibly setting down a line of questions regarding that connection. “What can we expect?”

“It looks like Keith and I will be handling the pilot,” Shiro says. 

“Pidge, you’ll be lead on the university B-roll scheduled for this week. Don’t let Lance or Hunk run riot,” Keith says. “Do not let him try to pet wildlife again.”

“Roger that!” Pidge says.

“I was making new friends!” Lance yelps.

“Dude,” Hunk says, patting him on the back. “Next time, try a petting zoo. I think the wildlife gets socialized and vaccinated there.”

“But--” Lance says.

“Yes, Allura would agree with us if asked,” Pidge says. “She knows humans don’t have the same resilience as Alteans, even their children.”

“How would you know?” Lance says, squinting at Pidge.

“Have you considered we hang out sometimes?” Pidge says. “You know, being that we have the same employer and are attached to the same team? Allura’s cool.”

“Anyways,” Shiro says. “Keith and I need to head out to meet with the Blades, but we’ll check our phones.”

“Wait,” Pidge says. “Isn’t it almost lunchtime?”

“Lunch meeting,” Keith says, face passive. He and Shiro grab their coats and slip out the door. Their shoulders brush, close enough it would be easy to hold hands, and then they’re gone.

“They haven’t done a lunch meeting since before Rizavi and Leifsdottir got married,” Hunk says.

“Wild,” Pidge says.

-

“Are you guys doing okay?” Pidge says. “You guys haven’t been in the office much.”

“We, uh, we were asked to do the first cut of the pilot,” Shiro says. Rarely, Keith is not at his side; Shiro’s back in the Voltron office, following up on some of the issues that had come up with the rest of the team.

“Are you guys doing okay with that?” Pidge says, frowning. Shiro looks more tousled than usual, stubble darkening his jawline. Unfairly, he looks like a strong-jawed man not far from ripping the seams straight out of a henley--some debate over whether this one had maybe originated as Keith’s has occurred; Pidge argued that it was a dark red and obviously Keith’s, Hunk had suggested that red was a lucky color for a number of Asian cultures (of which both Keith and Shiro could represent) and that it wasn’t necessarily meaningful that red was the second-most common color Keith wore after black--and disappearing into a forest to live as a lumberjack.

“Definitely,” Shiro says, with a nostalgic grin. “We’ve done a few edits since we finished school, it’s kind of a different way of thinking about what we film. Nice to return to.”

“You have a time crunch?” Pidge says. “You’re looking kind of rough.”

“No, the Garrison had no trouble giving us an extension,” Shiro says. “We just have houseguests.”

“That’s kind of a lot,” Pidge says. “Don’t work too hard, Shiro.”

Shiro laughs. “I’m fine,” he says. “Just enjoying the work and the visit. Hey, your hair’s starting to get some length--don’t forget to ask Keith about hair stuff at dinner--we’re hosting the next one, remember.”

“Hey!” Pidge says, pouting. “You know I had long hair when I started college and, well, you know I’m a lawful chaotic gremlin.”

“Not everything’s like riding a bike,” Shiro says, but he laughs when Pidge slaps his shoulder.

-

“Oh my god,” Pidge says at dinner. “Why are there spooks at our dual-household dinner?”

“Oh,” Shiro says. “Sorry--your parents have been part of enough of the dinners that I guess we just assumed the uncles were a part of it?”

“Greetings, Holts,” Kolivan says. Thace and Ulaz wave easily and with placid expressions from the sitting room.

“Um, Pidge?” Matt says. “Can you catch us up on what you’re talking about?”

“These are like, the Blades of Marmora,” Pidge says rapidly. “They are intelligence agents primarily composed of Galra operatives who recently had their cover blown and have subsequently retired from what they consider to be active duty. You started this project before the news broke, holy fuck.”

“That is not incorrect, young Katherine” Kolivan says.

“What the fuck,” Matt says, as Keith and Shiro exchange unsurprised looks. “How you do know that, Pigeon?”

“You know I love a good wander through Conspiracy Town,” Pidge says, elbowing her brother. “I guess a better question is if Keith and Shiro knew? And why they know enough to call me Katherine? Mostly it’s the lesbians that call me that.”

“I am begging you,” Matt says, “as your brother, to not tell me about your sex life.”

“Deal,” Pidge says, and they high-five over it.

“Do not be concerned, Holts,” Kolivan says. “It was our business to know what existed in the orbits of our nephews, and you have both spent years there.”

“Kolivan, Thace and Ulaz are members of our clan,” Keith says. “They are more or less uncles.”

“Do I want to know what that means, legally speaking?” Pidge says, squinting thoughtfully. “ _Can_ I know?”

“The closest description would be Keith and Keith In Law, young Katherine,” Kolivan says. 

“You know,” Matt says, “Keith having an NB alien parent because there is no gender binary--especially in space--makes a lot of sense. I swear there was someone in your family who appeared out of the shadows to smooth out whatever paperwork weirdness you have, when you guys got hired on by the GBC. But that’s not real, is it?”

“I will inform Regris that his efforts were noticed, young Matthew,” Thace intones from the futon. Matt jolts like a shiver’s run up the full length of his spine.

“Wow,” Pidge says, leaning heavily and suddenly into Matt’s side; he takes her weight and makes sure she won’t fall. “Wow. This is kind of a lot to take in when I haven’t really eaten since lunch time.”

Matt nods. “Next thing you’re going to say is that they’re your new show,” he says, laughing.

Pidge joins him laughing, then they peter off into silence when no one else joins them. “You’re joking,” Pidge breathes.

“There’s a reason we’re doing the first cut,” Shiro says, somewhat bashfully.

“Knowledge or death,” Kolivan says. It’s a joke, or close to it. Matt and Pidge don’t try to confirm it though.

-

“Oh my god,” Pidge says, sitting up in bed that night. “How much classified information are the Blades of Marmora blabbing on whatever show they’re running?”

Matt doesn’t like waking up to see her perched at the end of his bed, so she sits on his legs before he can fearfully get a kick in. 

“Matt--” Pidge says, hair wild and eyes gleaming in the darkness and unbothered by the way her brother’s legs shake under her weight. “Matt, what kind of show are ex-spies filming with the Garrison? What kind of show is producing enough classified content that Shiro and Keith are being run ragged, removing sensitive data?”

When he gets his face clear of his pillow, Matt screams loud enough to summon their mother and her favorite cricket bat, ready to do battle with whatever fool wandered in to murder her family.

-

“This item,” Kolivan says, pulling it out of a hidden pocket, “is what is called a ‘spirit box.’ If the disembodied spirits of the dead are able to manipulate energy as is historically posited among humans, and such spirits are present, then they may manipulate the randomly-assigned chatter of the device into cohesive communication.”

Antok shuffles closer obligingly as Kolivan activates the spirit box. It immediately begins chattering loudly, cycling up and down various radio frequencies.

“Hm,” Kolivan says drily. “It it as irksome as the annals suggest.”

Antok nods stiffly and pauses, raising a single ponderous finger.

The spirit box suddenly shouts--in a pair of men’s voices, one after the other and almost fluidly pieced together-- _”Fuck you too, man.”_

“You are correct, Antok,” Kolivan says. “This is not dissimilar to the seven-personnel mission--”

“Kolivan,” Shiro’s voice comes, a clearly audible warning despite his lack of microphone.

“Thank you, Shiro,” Kolivan says. “The presence of what your people call ghosts is a topic of interest--it is an unfamiliar concept to the Galra.”

“Didn’t you have something else?” Shiro says. “That emperor--”

“Zarkon,” Kolivan says, “who ruled at the time of the Fall of Daibazaal. What we Galra have instead of ghosts is closest to what you would call a revenant--one that has returned, even from death itself.”

Antok nods gruffly, arms crossed across his chest.

“Zarkon and his empress Honerva delved too deep in their curiosity,” Kolivan says, “and in doing so invited evil in. They died together, and were different when they woke again. The empire became a cruel, hungry thing, and its empress a witch who knew only loyalty to her lord.”

“What happened next?” Keith says, voice rough in the shock of the new silence, but impossibly softened by the way it’s captured by his camera.

“It is hard to say for sure,” Kolivan says, “for they lived and died 10,000 years ago. But the ones that we call the Knights of Starlight and the Aether came next, out of obscurity. The annals spoke only of a promised day, to those sensitive to quintessence. Even the Knights did not know how they had come forth--only that they had met Zarkon and his witch before, and fought them then. 

“The witch read the same signs and knew the Knights when they arrived, and they fought bitterly. When the ash had settled and cinders died, Zarkon and his empress had fallen, and the knights were dying. Our people owe the Knights for the peace they brought. 

“We have not forgotten what our freedom was bought with.”

“What was that?” Keith says, voice low but clear.

“It was love that lead to Zarkon’s fall,” Kolivan says, “but it was also love that saved the rest of the universe. They died at each other’s side, and that was worth enough for them. To be together and to have never given up on one another. That is why we still remember them--as the Knights of Starlight and the Aether, or as the Knights of Silver and Gold.”

“Silver and gold?” Shiro says. The camera in his hands doesn’t shake as he turns unconsciously, seeking out the other camera operator--seeking out _Keith._ Compared to Kolivan and Ulaz--and even Shiro--Keith is the smallest present, but somehow similar in the way he holds himself. “You mean--”

“They looked not unlike yourself and Keith,” Kolivan says. “Those of us who lived at the heart of the empire were altered by the quintessence that changed Zarkon and Honerva.”

Antok gestures fluidly beside Kolivan.

“Yes, dear, you’re right,” Kolivan says. “That is the origin of revenants within Galran lore. These days, the empire is little more than the descendants scattered across the universe, less isolated from the lore and ways of others.”

The spirit box suddenly kicks up another shout, this time a woman’s voice, distorted slightly-- _”Leave this place.”_

“Fascinating,” Kolivan says, considering the spirit box. Fondly, Antok’s tail reaches out and curls around Kolivan’s wrist. Kolivan returns the gesture, absent but assured. “Quite right, Antok.”

-

“We return,” Lance says in a hushed voice, “to the Garrison cafeteria, where we find our highly dangerous subject once more. If we look carefully, we might be able to discern the subject’s current source of vitality, paying close attention to the red color typically found in its diet.”

Keith looks up, red chopsticks raised to his mouth. “Lance?” he says. “What are you doing?”

Lance pauses in the middle of zooming in on Keith’s chopsticks (and coincidentally, his mouth, which is of course a nice mouth). “Just--practicing casual shots,” he says. “Definitely not doing anything sketchy because I have some theories that are definitely not conspiracies no matter what Pidge says.”

There’s a sound as a thermos is lowered to the table. Lance’s grip shakes with surprise and suddenly he’s filming someone’s well-defined jaw and strong neck. Oh, he thinks, he’s filming Shiro.

“Do I need to remind you that he hasn’t signed off any consent to release footage?” Shiro says evenly.

“Um,” Lance says. “I was just curious as to what Keith was eating? In case maybe it was red?”

“Mochi with azuki bean filling,” Keith says flatly. Then, as if to avoid further questions, he puts the entire piece of mochi in his mouth and chews steadily. It’s kind of impressive actually. But Keith and Shiro are still staring Lance down and he has the feeling that if he moves to stop filming, he might find his head on the ground separate from the rest of him or maybe kept in some freaky pseudo historical blood-draining device until he can no longer produce blood.

“Sorry to bother you,” Lance says, and flees.

-

“What was that about?” Keith murmurs to Shiro as the cafeteria door slams violently shut.

“He’s probably been reading conspiracy theories over Pidge’s shoulder again,” Shiro says. He scans the room; no one’s watching, so he sneaks a quick kiss to Keith’s mouth.

“How’d you know what I’d been craving?” Keith says. It’s too sweet for Shiro to resist; he chases the taste of sweet rice and azuki bean. Keith opens willingly to his attentions, ever-hungry and fond.

-

“What kind of bean is azuki anyways?” Lance says later.

“Sometimes it’s known as red bean,” Hunk says. “Why, want to try it sometime? I have a couple recipes.”

“Mother _fucker,_ ” Lance yelps, almost falling from his chair. “It’s another thing on the list of Keith Eating Red Things.”

“That is so not a thing,” Hunk says.

-

“So, when’s your secret project dropping?” Pidge asks. Keith looks rougher than he normally does--shadows pressed under his eyes, and hair tied back to disguise the ambiguity of its last washing--and Shiro’s nowhere in sight.

Without setting aside his cup of coffee, Keith sluggishly checks his watch (new and subtle but very probably expensive). “In about half an hour,” Keith says, “if everything’s gone ahead for approval after the final pre-drop showing.”

“Seriously?” Pidge says. “You guys have been worked to the bone, we’ve hardly seen you two lately!”

“It’s a pilot,” Keith says. “We want to get it right. They’ll have additional staff later, but it’s so important to get the groundwork laid out from the get-go.”

“That sounds like something Shiro would say,” Pidge says suspiciously.

“It is something Shiro says,” Keith says, and after a moment they begin laughing together.

“Still having house guests?” Pidge asks, leaning against the coffee station counter.

“No, they bought a house a street over,” Keith says, swirling his coffee. Pidge wonders if he’s reached the point where he’s struggling to keep his eyes open but can’t take more caffeine before jitters and nausea set in. 

She blinks in shock. “Keith--aren’t most of the houses in that area really massive and expensive?”

“Yes,” Keith says. 

“Doesn’t buying a house usually take a hellacious amount of time?” Pidge asks.

“Yes,” Keith repeats.

“Every time I learn more about your family, the more confused I feel about them,” Pidge says.

Keith shrugs. “I didn’t meet them until a couple years after I’d met Shiro. I’m still learning more about them,” he says.

“Damn,” Pidge says, and “I am also still learning things about my family. You know my grandmas don’t talk to each other because one time my dad complimented the other’s pasta? And it was taken as a sleight to the family honor because obviously my dad can only enjoy his mother’s family recipe?”

“That’s rough,” Keith says.

“Classic Holtigan--that’s Holt shenanigans--drama,” Pidge says, shrugging. 

-

_”Welcome to the Blade of Marmora’s research investigation into paranormal activity,”_ a stony-faced Kolivan says. “Today’s investigation concerns a site in which numerous murders have occurred across the years.”

Pidge spits out a mouthful of cocoa onto Lance’s sleeve. It’s not on purpose but he’s there and screaming even though the cocoa’s not even that hot (Pidge has long since defeated whatever parts of her mouth were temperature sensitive and has been known to have Matt and various other conspirators pour coffee straight from the pot down her gullet. She wonders if that’s what frat parties are like--chugging liquids of dubious and cheap manufacture while surrounded by a demonic circle of chanting compatriots, occasionally in a competitive setting--but discards that as less important than her origin story stealing coffee from her father’s sippy cup because he was a brilliant if distracted man who could be conned by a toddler at the breakfast table).

“What the hell?” Lance says, uncomfortably tugging his sleeve away from his arm.

“Pidge?” Hunk says with a concerned look, a stack of napkins materializing in his hand.

“Shush!” Pidge yelps, swatting at his shoulder. “I’m watching something!”

“Can I--” Lance begins.

“No!” Pidge says. “Shiro’s said you’re on time-out from looking over my shoulder until you’re not having frightened and spontaneous sleepovers with Hunk because I was reading something that scared you.”

“I mean, I really don’t mind,” Hunk says. “It’s nice to hang out, outside of work.”

“Yeah!” Lance says. “It’s like being roommates and at college together again.”

“Not the point,” Pidge says. “Not when you bring it into work too.”

-

“Keith--” Pidge says, bouncing excitedly over as he enters the room. “I loved the pilot? Like, I can't describe how or why but the tone? The narrator? Please tell me it’s been greenlit for a full season and maybe beyond.”

Keith stops at the threshold, Shiro bumping gently into his back. “Hi, Pidge,” he says, chuckling. “It’s a little early to hear back about that, but so far everything that's come back has been positive.”

“The pilot dropped an hour ago,” Shiro says bemusedly as he watches over Keith’s shoulder. “Have you been watching here?”

“I plead the fifth,” Pidge says, and winks.

_“Yes,”_ Lance and Hunk say simultaneously. 

“Look!” Lance says, gesturing at his still-damp sleeve. “She got me with the cocoa.”

“Sorry about that,” Pidge says, unrepentant. “It was so good though. I'm totally bringing it to Holt Family Media Hour. The whole family’s going to go down with me.”

“You watched without Matt?” Keith asks.

“Oh,” Pidge says. “Well, he'll forgive me eventually. Even if I have to help him film first.”

-

“I'll be sure to discuss that with the team,” Shiro says. “At which time we'll make a decision.”

Voltron listens raptly with various levels of concealment--Lance and Hunk frozen in the middle of tossing popcorn into each other’s mouth, Pidge typing rapidly, Keith still scanning their shared calendar--as Shiro hangs up his phone and finally relaxes into his chair.

“So,” Lance says, awkwardly making eye contact with Shiro as he realizes he's been caught. “What’s going on?”

“It’s a Marmora Investigations thing,” Shiro says. Keith hums in acknowledgement. “I'd prefer to discuss it within that team before anyone else.”

“That’s fair,” Hunk says.

“Is it good news, at least?” Pidge asks. The others turn to her with bemused looks. “What? I'm a big fan.”

“I guess?” Shiro says.

-

“The Garrison wants to do a screening of the pilot,” Shiro says at dinner that night. 

“Is that good news?” Kolivan asks.

“It is,” Shiro says. “It just involves things like formal wear and the public--they want to do a red carpet and all, and they're willing to donate ticket proceeds to charity if that's what it takes.”

“You look unsure, Shiro,” Ulaz says.

“We’re videographers,” Keith says, shrugging. “There’s always a concern that our presence or appearances might distract from the material.”

“That’s exactly it,” Shiro says, smiling fondly at Keith.

“Is it not likely that they have already viewed the work if they are attending the red carpet premiere?” Thace says. The others nod.

“There is no issue with having your contributions recognized,” Kolivan says. “We are all proud of your work.”

“Oh,” Shiro says. Keith sits down in his lap, draping an arm around his neck.

“It would be our honor if you were part of the red carpet event, regardless of how the public takes it,” Kolivan says. “We anticipate the arrival of more Blades fresh from assignments and will happily engage their support.”

“Thank you,” Keith says, fingers gently tracing Shiro’s shoulder. “We'll consider it.”

“There is one more item of interest,” Kolivan says. 

“Yeah?” Shiro says.

“There’s someone on the way who's very much looking forward to seeing you,” Kolivan says.

“You mean--” Keith says.

As one, the Blades nod.

-

“How’re you doing?” Shiro asks that night, when they’re lying in bed. Keith’s tucked under his arm; his hand sifts gently and repetitively through Keith’s hair.

“I thought I had felt everything I could feel about it,” Keith says. “Like learning to trust that you'd come home, and that even though things weren't always easy, we'd work together and find a way to make it. Together. But suddenly I feel like a kid again and my dad's gone, and where's the other parent on my birth certificate? Why is it in a language none of us can parse? Even knowing all these years why Krolia left--I'm struggling.”

“That’s okay,” Shiro says. “You feel what you feel, and that’s worth something.”

“I know,” Keith says softly. “I wish I could put these feelings down and move on.”

“What can I do to help?” Shiro asks.

“Distract me?” Keith says. 

“I can think of a few ways to do that,” Shiro says, rising up to hover over Keith. He presses a kiss to Keith’s mouth, then his chin, his throat; he works his way down methodically, blankets shifting down his back to expose them both to the cool night air. 

“Yeah?” Keith gasps as a kiss is pressed to the edge of his ribcage, gentle but assured.

“Yeah,” Shiro says into Keith’s bellybutton. “My husband's been working so hard lately, I wanted to make sure I had everything I needed to take care of him.”

“Sounds like a lucky guy,” Keith murmurs.

“I think I'm the lucky one,” Shiro says. “I wish I could convey half of the love I feel for him.”

His only answer is in Keith’s moans.

-

“I don’t know how to tell you how much I love you,” Keith says in the cooling sweat aftermath. “You’re so good to me.”

Shiro presses a soft kiss to Keith’s temple and settles closer to him still. “You deserve everything,” Shiro says.

Keith turns and their mouths meet in a chaste, gentle kiss; nothing to drive out all other thoughts or build into something more. They part and Keith’s gaze is reverent, still unwilling to separate. “You do too,” he says.

-

“So, Mr. uh, Blade,” a reporter says, “your team’s got a lot of new faces here at the GBC. Anything you want us to know?”

Off-camera, Shiro gestures in a way that roughly signals ‘Cover this area.’

“No,” Kolivan says.

“Oh,” the reporter says.

Shiro gestures ‘Rally.’

“What of you, young Snicket?” Kolivan says gravely. “Anything you want us to know.”

“Nothing really, I guess,” the reporter says. “I really enjoyed hearing about Galran culture? It’s hard to learn about things like that.”

“It was not the most traditional presentation of information,” Kolivan says. “It is typically presented via epic poetry intended for recitation. Many of my brethren were soothed by tales such as the Knights of Stars and Aether.”

“Isn’t that kind of dark for telling kids?” the reporter asks.

“No,” Kolivan says.

Once more, Shiro signals ‘Cover this area.’

“Children know of darkness,” Kolivan says. “It is always present. It would be far more cruel to fail to teach them of hope. To commit to a child is to commit to preparing them as best as possible against a sea of troubles.”

“Did you just quote Hamlet?” the reporter says, dazed-sounding. “I didn’t know you knew Hamlet.”

“I know of many things, young Snicket.”

-

“We don’t have to stay,” Shiro says as they walk over. “We can always leave and go back home if you decide that’s what you want.”

Keith’s grip on Shiro’s hand tightens. “I think I have to face this,” he says, low and stressed.

“I know,” Shiro says. “And I’m here with you, if that’s what you want.”

“I do,” Keith says, desperately meeting Shiro’s eyes. Their footsteps stall on the sidewalk. “I always want you here.”

Shiro guides their interlaced hands up to press a kiss to Keith’s hand. Then they continue on, rounding the corner. The Blades’ house rises up just as the rest of the street; painted slate grey and its door a dark cranberry red that opens to reveal Ilun, a member of the extended clan. She nods sternly at them and disappears back into the house.

“I guess they’re waiting for us,” Keith says, sighing, and determinedly strides forward. Shiro matches his pace--more akin to the way a torpedo cuts through water en route to its target than anything else--and soon they’re crossing the small yard and being waved into the house.

Krolia knows as little of Keith as he knows of her--for fairness, Kolivan had said, and they hadn’t been able to contact her with any meaningful capacity approximately since she’d left Earth behind. Krolia has the same Galran height that outstrips most humans; Keith’s not small, but he has neither of his parents’ height. Keith has the same face and lean build as Krolia, though his coloring is purely his father’s.

It’s a stranger mirror than Keith’s ever seen. He wants to simultaneously seek out each common trait in its reflection and destroy it. There is little to wonder that Kolivan had recognized him, all those years before.

“Tell me,” Keith finds himself saying. “What was important enough to leave for.”

“There was a group of scientists,” Krolia says. Her voice is as steady and dispassionate as if she’s delivering a mission report. “I was the only one with the knowledge and experience to be embedded in their facility.”

“And?” Keith says.

“The last time that kind of technology was studied, Daibazaal fractured,” Krolia says. “Many people died, even those that were not in the immediate vicinity.”

Keith is silent. Shiro squeezes his hand gently.

Krolia stares watchfully for a long moment, and finally casts her gaze downwards. “It would have eventually brought death and destruction, even this far in the universe. I could not risk you or your future. I did not imagine anything might happen to you with your father there.”

Keith shuts his eyes and takes a deep, grounding breath. His grip on Shiro’s hand is firm, like he’s a tether to a place of direct and uncomplicated love. “My dad’s been gone a long time,” Keith says finally, meeting Krolia’s eyes squarely. Then he’s turning and making apologies to the uncles.

The door shuts quietly but firmly behind them.

“Home?” Shiro asks. Keith shakes his head and instead they spend the evening wandering the riverside together. 

-

Keith wonders whether the Blades are frustrated with him and his inability to stomach Krolia’s presence for long, or have an extended conversation. He feels like a thief in the night, gradually stealing small pieces of information and leaving near to nothing behind.

“It’s okay,” Shiro promises, as they idly slow dance in their kitchen. “They know this isn’t easy for you.”

“I’m tired of hurting over this,” Keith admits, tipping his head back to look at Shiro. “But I don’t know how not to resent them for how it turned out.”

“I don’t think that any of them know any better,” Shiro says. “I don’t think many of them--maybe even any of the Blades besides Krolia--had any children.”

“I think so too,” Keith says, resting his head against Shiro’s shoulder. “It’s like this is something new to something ancient.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says. “The way Kolivan talks sometimes, the stories he and the others tell of times long ago; I’m almost sure that they were there themselves.”

They sway back and forth peaceably and Shiro smiles softly down at Keith.

“Why don’t we just take the rest of this week for ourselves?” Shiro says. “No need to burn ourselves out on this.”

A small peal of laughter slips out of Keith as he looks up at Shiro. “That sounds perfect. If I hadn’t married you already, I’d marry you again just for that.”

“I’d marry you as many times as it takes,” Shiro promises.

-

“Mr. Blade,” the reporter says, as all the other reporters have come to address the Blades of Marmora, “why did you decide to start up Marmora Investigations? Your team doesn’t really have a history as media producers.”

“Ghosts are not native to traditional Galran culture, young Fossil,” Kolivan says. “My clan and I felt it was time to consider a different career.”

Antok nods stiffly beside Kolivan, tail idly curling around Kolivan’s ankle and receiving a distracted softening of facial expression for his efforts.

“Really?” the reporter says with a frown.

“Of course,” Kolivan says. “It is never too late to explore new horizons, young Fossil, even to pursue entirely new topics.”

-

“Kogane,” Leifsdottir says. “Were you aware that the tickets to the red carpet premiere of Marmora Investigations have sold out?”

“What?” Keith says.

“A significant amount of money has been raised for charitable purposes,” Leifsdottir says.

“Really?” Shiro says. Leifsdottir pulls up a webpage on her tablet. 

“That’s a lot of money,” Keith says.

“I have a few outfit options saved,” Shiro says.

“Good,” Leifsdottir says. “You will need a strong option for the premiere.”

-

The Blades arrive at the red carpet in a series of impeccably tailored black suits. None are the same, despite the theme of all black outfits; here and there are satin lapels, or velvet jackets, or even the subtle gleam or glitter of cufflinks and various other accessories. They’re a tall, imposing group, intimidating to approach. 

For better or for worse, Keith and Shiro are all the more human-looking and therefore more approachable.

Keith’s dressed in black except for his jacket: a deep, dark red matched in Shiro’s pocket square, familiar necklace and pendant set prominently in view rather than a tie. Shiro’s three piece suit and tie are black, shirt a dark steel grey. At his wrists are a pair of garnet cabochon cufflinks, dark and rich in color like deoxygenated blood. The Blades had insistently employed a junior Blade to customize the cut of their suits, and it shows in the way Shiro and Keith wear them.

When Shiro and Keith step out onto the red carpet, the cameras falter for a long second and then return, flashing furiously. They pause for several shots but excuse themselves quickly from the greater public’s view.

“Good choice,” Kolivan says, when they make their apologies for the delay.

“This is your project though,” Shiro says, protesting.

“Your efforts and Keith’s have been instrumental in its success,” Kolivan says placidly. “The Blade of Marmora is proud to see you recognized.”

“Kolivan,” Keith says. “That’s--wow. I don’t know what to say.”

“There is no need to say anything,” Kolivan says. “Only to know that we are grateful. It is not easy to work with us, and yet you both have accomplished so much in so little time.”

Shiro laughs, sheepishly combing back hair already styled back. “The timelines will be a little more generous now that the project’s been established and can allow for a larger crew.”

“Still,” Thace says, inclining his head respectfully. 

“Come now,” Ulaz says. “Do not worry for such things now. Tonight is for marking success.”

“Okay,” Shiro says, and they laugh together. 

-

“Do you feel like we're under surveillance,” Keith says at the dinner before the screening.

“Yes,” Shiro says. Kolivan hums thoughtfully. At another table, a phone sounds off as it takes another photo.

-

“Oh,” Shiro says in the dark theater, watching himself turn towards the screen--turning towards _Keith_ \--as Kolivan spins the tale of Galran revenants. Then there's Shiro’s footage seamlessly pieced in: Keith, beautiful Keith, listening raptly and lovely in his focus.

_“They looked not unlike yourself and Keith,”_ Kolivan says on screen. Shiro remembers the filming of this--they hadn't meant to catch each other in shot, but they had, and Keith had edited the scene to a split screen that showed the simultaneous muted confusion of their reactions--but Keith had been forced by time constraints to do most of the editing. Until now, Shiro has only seen scattered clips Keith had sent him for approval. He'd known that they were both visible at points, but knowing was different from understanding.

There’s something vulnerable and exposed in being seen like this. But Shiro doesn’t mind if it means that Keith sees it too.

In the dark, Keith takes his hand and presses a series of kisses to his knuckles. Shiro can only hold on as tightly as he dares.

-

The picture of their silhouettes in the dark theater is one of the more famous photos from that night, almost rivalling the group shots of the assembled Blades, and those of the famous Garrison execs and celebrities who'd attended. Their faces tip towards each other, and Shiro’s hand distinct where it's drawn up to Keith’s mouth.

Leifsdottir sends them the photo in the morning. It’s printed and framed in the Blade house by the next time they visit. 

-

“Ugh,” Lance says the next day.

“What’s going on, buddy?” Hunk says, wheeling over.

“How do they look so good?” Lance whines. “Coordinating outfits should be too matchy-match. But somehow it works.”

“It really works,” Hunk says agreeably. “They look really good.”

“Are you creeping on their Instas again?” Pidge says from her corner of the office.

“I can’t help it,” Lance says. “I am compelled to.”

“Don’t be so victim-blaming,” Pidge says. “This is your life decision.”

“Hey, man,” Hunk says when Lance looks at him for support. “I agree.”

“Come on, who noticed when Shiro and Keith came in suddenly wearing new watches?” Lance says.

“Oh, their mutual anniversary gifts?” Pidge says.

“Yeah, those ones,” Hunk says. “Nice enough to wear to events, but also durable enough to wear on jobs. Shiro’s pretty proud of that.”

“What?” Lance says. “Why am I out of the loop?”

“Hm,” Pidge says, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Well, do you talk to them like they’re normal people?”

“Oh, right,” Lance says, deflating. “My bad.”

He stares at the wine glass full of unidentifiable red liquid--not red wine, that’s in Kolivan’s glass--next to Keith in another picture. “One day I will solve this mystery,” Lance swears. “One day.”

-

“I don’t know if we’ll ever be close,” Keith says, breath fogging in the early morning air. “I’m not saying we’ll never talk, but. I’ve carried this for years and I can’t set it down, not yet.”

“I understand,” Krolia says.

“Shiro mentioned that you’ll be joining Marmora Investigations, along with other Blades that will be joining soon,” Keith says, somewhat hesitantly.

“If it’s an issue, I’m happy to withdraw--” Krolia says.

“--No,” Keith says. “That’s not what I’m asking. I’ll help you and the other Blades settle in.”

“Oh,” Krolia says. “Thank you.”

Keith’s quiet, standing automatically when he sees Shiro approach. “Shiro’s here,” he says. “We have to head out.”

“I am glad that you have him in your life,” Krolia says.

Keith smiles unconsciously, watching Shiro come closer and closer. “Without Shiro, my life would be very different,” he says, then he’s walking forward to meet Shiro.

“Hi honey,” Shiro whispers into Keith’s mouth, then kisses him.

“Hi Shiro,” Keith says. And they walk away together, arm in arm and hand in hand and fingers interlaced.

Under her breath, Krolia recites an old, almost-forgotten Galran prayer for a couple’s fortune and joy. In the distance, Keith turns ever so slightly, almost as if sensing a flicker of quintessence.

-

“Agh!” Lance screams.

“Everything alright?” Keith says from the office entrance.

Lance screams again, this time accidentally. “Where--what?!” he yelps. “The office was empty.”

“And it’s not any more,” Keith says, walking towards his desk. 

“Right,” Lance says. “You know what? Fine. Tell it to me straight--”

Keith raises a wry, dark eyebrow.

“Right,” Lance says. “I should’ve known better than to say something like that.”

Keith inclines his head.

“I just--” Lance says. “The things you eat--are you a vampire?!”

“Oh my god,” Hunk says from the doorway. “You can’t just ask people if they’re vampires, Lance.”

“That’s true, Hunk,” Keith says evenly--maybe too evenly for a man who’s just been accused of vampirism and who is also improbably pretty.

“Thank you!” Hunk says.

“However,” Keith says, meeting Shiro’s gaze as he hovers unseen just past the office threshold, “I will make an exception at this time. No, Lance, I am not a vampire.”

Shiro dissolves into overpowering, body-shaking laughter that startles Hunk and Lance enough that yelp and grasp at each other.

“I can confirm that,” Shiro says, when he can speak again. His eyes gleam mirthfully.

“Not all human,” Keith says idly, “but not a vampire.”

Shiro’s nod is a familiar confirmation, so they all accept it for a moment.

“Wait--” Hunk says. “What do you mean, ‘not all human?’”

“Unfortunately,” Shiro says, “that’s classified.”

-

Shiro and Keith are still laughing, on and off, when they leave work hours later.

“Hey,” Shiro says, leaning across the gearshift. “What do you think of going for a drive and picking something up on the way home?”

The smile that Keith flashes is a small, whole-hearted thing. “I'd love to,” Keith says.

Shiro’s grin is a little more wild; he starts the car and gets them out onto the roadway. Before they've left the city, Shiro has his hand crossing his body and Keith’s hand is ready, curling firmly around it.

“Where do you want to go?” Shiro murmurs. 

“With you?” Keith says. “Anywhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Hozier's "Shrike." Many thanks to zjofierose and spookyfoot who have both helped tremendously.  
> This was meant to be another lighthearted installment but feelings crept in again.  
> My penance for watching as much b un as I have is that my mother can now recognize a spirit box by its sound and my uncle thinks I own one. Which I don't, sorry uncle.  
> Catch me on twitter @belovedbacon


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